


A Whisper on the Night Wind

by TheSprog



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Garcy Week 2020, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSprog/pseuds/TheSprog
Summary: Lucy and Flynn have followed Rittenhouse through time into the mountains of 19th century British Columbia, and are trying not to let their burgeoning feelings for each other get in the way of their mission.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 28
Kudos: 58





	1. The Bleak Barbarian Pines

**Author's Note:**

> Read a million Timeless fics during quarantine, and when I saw the Garcy Week prompts I couldn't resist trying one for myself...

Lucy brushed the wet flakes off her face once again, alarmed by how quickly it was growing dark. Trudging through the snow like this was more tiring than she had anticipated, but Flynn wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down, and she didn’t want to be the one who jeopardised the mission. Lifting her hands to her shoulder straps, she eased the weight of her pack briefly off her aching shoulders and pulled at the waist band to try and tighten it further. She dropped her hands quickly as she saw Flynn turn, knowing that he would try to take the pack if he thought she was struggling.  
“Lucy,” he said heavily. “We’re not going to make it to Garibaldi Lake tonight.”  
What on earth was he suggesting? That they abandon the men at the Barrier to whatever fate Rittenhouse had planned that could possibly be worse than being crushed to death by a million tonnes of rock fall? In order to, what, lie down in the snow and hope for a miracle?  
“No,” she said firmly. “We keep going.”  
“Right, because you’re not about to pass out even if you’d let me take your damn backpack. Which, by the way, is not remotely historically accurate.”  
“There were plenty of women climbers in the mid-19th century,” she snapped. “Lucy Walker will be summiting the Eiger in a few years.”  
“You’re talking to the man who shot Abraham Lincoln, remember? This is not about going soft on Rittenhouse, this is about making sure you don’t die in a snowstorm out of sheer stubbornness. We have to find shelter, Lucy, and I’m pretty sure that little cabin we passed an hour ago will be a better hiding place from Rittenhouse than any of the shelters marked on the maps.”

***

When she finally stumbled into the cabin it was almost totally dark, and she was more relieved than she could say that they weren’t still clambering blindly upwards towards the Barrier. But it soon became obvious that the little shelter was not designed for winter nights. Snow was drifting up in little gusts through the slatted floor, and despite the small fire that Flynn had managed to get going, her clothes seemed to be freezing around her.  
“Lucy,” he began, unusually hesitant.  
“What?”  
“Best practice for staying warm is, um, to share body heat.”  
She looked at him blankly for a moment. Of course it would be the sensible and practical thing to do, she told herself. Any feelings that she had around Flynn – not to mention the suspicions she had never quite wanted to test concerning his feelings for her - had absolutely nothing whatever to do with good practice in a survival situation.  
“Not... not if it makes you uncomfortable, though”, he added hastily.  
“And on the whole you’d rather let me freeze to death than embarrass me?”  
He stared at her, clearly unsure what to say for once.  
“Just come here,” she said, striving to sound as though this was all totally normal. After all, she reminded herself, you’ve spent the night in the poor man’s bed, surely you can sleep next to each other in a small cabin. “Shouldn’t we take off some of these soaking wet clothes?” Her fingers didn’t seem to be reacting properly, fumbling with the ties.  
He licked his lips as he reached towards her, looking away immediately as his face flushed. Finally, they managed to roll themselves together next to the fire in a not-particularly-comfortable pile of damp coats and stiff blankets. Despite her fatigue, Lucy couldn’t make herself relax: Flynn was right there, in the darkness, she could feel his body curling around her and she both desperately wanted to huddle into his solid warmth and felt abnormally sensitive about doing so. Moments flashed through her mind – his arm round her waist, his grip on her wrist, his eyes locked on hers, his smile... Surely she wasn’t imagining it, surely he felt something for her?  
Slowly, painfully, she drifted off into a fitful sleep, snuggling closer to him as the night grew colder. She was vaguely aware that he got up from time to time to tend to the fire, each time taking her carefully into his arms again and rolling them back into the blankets he had disarranged. Her self-consciousness numbed by cold and exhaustion, she clung onto him more tightly, entangling her legs with his and folding her head into his chest. It was just so cold, and he was just so warm and safe... 

***

As she shifted slightly in the dawn light, still half-asleep with muscles stiff and aching, she became aware of the hand gently stroking her side, fingers drifting down from her shoulder to her waist.  
“Flynn?” she mumbled sleepily. He pulled himself away from her, and she could practically feel the shame flushing across his face.  
“Lucy, I... I’m so sorry. I never meant... I’m sorry. I should never have...” God, he sounded like he had had Rufus shot again at the very least.  
“It’s OK,” she muttered. “I don’t mind. It felt... nice. I like it.”  
She made herself look at him, despite her own embarrassment. He was staring at her with a mixture of incredulity and hope that almost made her pull back in its intensity, but she rolled closer, reached for his hand and carefully put it back on her waist. For a moment neither of them moved. Then, slowly and with an immense effort, he drew his hand once more down her side, brushing his other fingers gently over her cheek.  
“Lucy,” he paused, “Lucy... since you’re awake, we should really get going.”  
“Yes. Yes, of course. The Barrier. Let’s climb.”

***

The storm had lifted, although the sky was still dark grey, and Lucy’s feet were in agony after being forced brutally back into her frozen boots that morning. But the physical pain was at least a distraction from the thoughts swirling around her head, thoughts that tended to linger uncomfortably on the warmth of his arms, and the feel of his hand tracing its way to her waist. Tired and stiff from the previous day’s exertions, it took all her willpower to force herself onwards, step after step. At least Flynn was breaking the trail, sinking heavily into the new-fallen snow and giving her an easier path to follow. And the thought of the men working unsuspecting at the Barrier, about to be buried forever in an avalanche of boulders, drove her on. It wasn’t an incident that would previously have spurred her imagination – the historical significance was minor, having more impact on geology and understanding of fossilised lava flows than on the few safety regulations that had been adjusted in its wake. But coming so close to so many tragedies on the missions had long ago led her to refuse to abandon anyone she could possible save, even if Rittenhouse’s presence in the area didn’t lead the team to suspect something was afoot.  
Flynn was hugging the treeline as much as possible, both for the better visibility it offered in the open snowfields, and for some protection against the wind that was starting to pick up again. Lucy tried to restrain her impatience with the zig-zagging route: what if the rockfall was starting? There was no trustworthy information on exactly what time in the morning the Barrier had started to collapse, as there had been no survivors of the disaster. They were supposed to have arrived last night, and it felt like they had forever still to climb. Briefly stretching her aching shoulders, and resolving to ignore her feet until they made it back to the bunker, she put her head down and trudged wearily onwards into the wind.


	2. The Storm-Gored Ridges

It was getting on for midday by the time the two of them had reached the shores of the lake stretching endlessly through the snowy peaks.

“Remind me again why Rufus couldn’t have dropped us off here to start with?”, asked Flynn, looking grimly at Lucy, barely able to restrain her trembling. He had forcibly taken the pack off her a few hours ago, but the relief in her aching shoulders was nothing compared to the stiffness invading her whole body and above all the pain in her feet. For the last few hundred feet of the ascent, she had felt as though it were literally impossible to force her legs to walk another step, and willpower alone could only take her so far. 

They could see the workmen’s camp quite clearly, but there was a deep silence over the whole place, none of the expected signs of life. Had Emma come and gone? In any case, Lucy absolutely needed to rest before going any further, and they staggered gratefully into a small cabin with a pot-bellied stove, and a wood stack in a lean-to out back that looked as though it were designed to last the winter. The whole place smelled unappetisingly of urine, smoke, alcohol and rotting meat, but Lucy sank down onto one of the camp beds without a second thought as Flynn made up the fire. 

She moved to take off her boots, but found her fingers fumbling hopelessly at the leather. Before she could say anything, Flynn was kneeling on the floor in front of her, gently easing her swollen feet out of the stiff leather. Her thick woollen socks were caked with traces of blood, and she was horrified at the thought of what her feet must look like beneath the socks. 

“For God’s sake, Lucy! Why the hell do you have to put yourself through this kind of thing?” 

“For the same reason you do, obviously.” 

“That’s entirely different!”, he bit out. 

“Oh really? And how’s that, exactly? You’re a tough soldier who can put up with anything, and I’m just the historian who can’t handle a day’s hiking, is that is?” 

She didn’t know where this frustration was bubbling up from, but she had climbed this mountain in a howling blizzard, goddammit, and she wasn’t going to be patronised by anybody. Even – no, especially – by the man in whose arms she had felt entirely too comfortable that morning. 

“Of course not. Lucy, I know perfectly well you can handle anything you put your mind to. I haven’t forgotten the trick you pulled on me during the Watergate affair – not to mention setting Houdini on to me.” His face stretched briefly into an unaccustomed smile. “But what I’m trying to say is: you shouldn’t have to. You don’t always have to be the one to suffer. I could... if I could... if you would let me help you, sometimes, that would be the very least you deserve – and far more than I deserve. Please.”

She stared at him, about to protest – for heaven’s sake, could the man have any less self-esteem? – but the waves of exhaustion washing over her conquered her anger for the moment.

“You do help me,” she managed. “And it would help me immeasurably right now if you could get us some food and then we can see what Emma has been up to.”

His face creased into concern: it was very unlike Lucy to think about her next meal when they were on the hunt for Rittenhouse.

“All right, I’ll scrounge around for some food and see if I can figure out what’s been going on in the camp. Stay here, rest a little – no, don’t argue, you still need to get down this damn mountain – and I promise I will tell you everything I find and you can decide what to do.” She was vaguely aware that he had stopped his gentle massaging of her feet – at least there was one upside to the stench in the cabin, surely even in this state her feet couldn’t smell noticeably worse. Before getting off his knees, he laid one hand hesitantly on her thigh, squeezed lightly, and then took off without looking back as she let herself doze in the unaccustomed warmth. 

*** 

Some time later, she became sleepily conscious of voices outside the cabin. And then was shocked into sitting bolt upright as she realised that none of them belonged to Flynn, or even to anyone could plausibly be found at a nineteenth century winter work camp. These were women – and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget Emma’s voice, not if she spent the next forty years teaching freshman history at a sleepy liberal arts college where the word Rittenhouse was entirely unknown.

“Well, someone’s clearly been here. You think it’s my beloved husband?”

“And since when has he known his way around a pair of snowshoes?” 

“Right, because being from Texas clearly makes hiking in the snow impossible. As shown by my own presence here.” 

“All right, all right, will you just shut up for five seconds? The Lifeboat definitely landed down near the sound.”

“You think that lot are taking a leaf out of your book, and trying to intercept the gold shipments?”

“Don’t be more idiotic than you can help. As if Princess Lucy would deign to help herself to other people’s gold! She waits nice and politely for them to pour it graciously into her lap.”

The venom in Emma’s voice startled Lucy once again. But it didn’t exactly sound as though Emma and Jessica were hell-bent on some fiendish plan – for once it sounded as though Rittenhouse had been the ones chasing them up the mountain, trying to figure out their plans. But they had followed the Mothership into Squamish country, not the other way round. And in any case, she didn’t fancy facing an enraged Emma on her own, certainly not unarmed and with her muscles vigorously protesting the slightest movement. Where the hell was Flynn when you needed him? Surely in all this snow it would be impossible for anyone to conceal their tracks – they must have left a perfect trail right up to the door of the cabin. 

The voices were growing fainter, presumably following Flynn’s prints. How could she help him, warn him? She made to climb off the bed, hesitating between leaving him alone – again – to face death for her and the knowledge that by stumbling out into the snow she would serve merely as a target. But she had to do something, she simply couldn’t just sit here and wait. So she gritted her teeth and began to stuff her feet back into her accursed boots, forcing her mind to recall accounts of pioneer crossings in comparison to which this was a cheerful summer picnic. Nonetheless, there was most certainly going to be a ritual bonfire when, or if, they made it back to the present. Just the laces to do up now. Come on, Lucy, she told herself sternly, you have got to get moving. If Emma came back while her boots were half on, she’d have no chance at all.

And then, when she least expected it, came the noise. It was a thousand thunderstorms rolled into one, like the whole earth was breaking apart around her; she was tossed in the noise like a frail dinghy in a rough sea. For the first minute she could think of nothing at all, her head pounding, drunk with the vibrations that seemed to go on for ever. The great lava formations that formed the Barrier, protecting the valleys below from catastrophic flooding from the glacial lake, had given way this morning as she had almost forgotten it would. And Flynn was out there, somewhere, careless as usual of danger, because she had been too tired and too hungry. Oh God, she prayed desperately, please let me find him. Just let me find him.


	3. Death-Like Sleep

“Flynn! Flynn!” she shouted, not caring for the moment whether Emma or Jessica heard her. “Garcia! Come on, where are you? Flynn!” She stumbled onwards, heedless of the ongoing rumblings and the clouds of dust and snow filling in the air. “Please, you have to be alive!” A vision of his face flashed through her mind – the tender smile that she was pretty sure, these days, was only for her. 

She went on and on, past the camp, scrambling across the icy boulders, peering into the tree wells, desperately scanning the surface of the lake, wiping the snow and grit out of her eyes time and time again, voice grown hoarse with shouting into the wind. But there was no sign of anyone at all. Where was he? She would not let herself believe that he had been caught in the rock fall. He had to be here somewhere. He had to. He had to. And, for that matter, so did Emma. Her foot plunged deep into another snowdrift, and she struggled feebly to release herself, sinking deeper with every frantic effort. 

“Flynn!”, she screamed. “Flynn!” Come on, Lucy. Think. Gravity. Pressure. Spread out your weight. Her gloves were soaking through rapidly, and she was making no headway in freeing her legs. Her head was swimming, and she was so cold and tired... No, she mustn’t fall asleep. Life in Palo Alto may not have prepared her for escaping from snowbanks, but she did at least know that if once you fell asleep in this kind of cold, you were done for. Come on, Lucy. Look at the huge expanses of sky. Look at the mountains. You’ve been trapped in a goddamn oven by a serial killer, a little snow is nothing. Push. Push. 

***

She was only vaguely aware of warmth slowly seeping into her bones, of a murmuring voice, of some rather foul-tasting liquid being dripped down her throat. She stretched out slowly, eyes still closed, until her dawning consciousness reminded her of her mission. She had to keep moving – she had to find him. She forced herself upwards. and realised with shock that by some miracle an anxious-looking Flynn was standing by her bedside back in the cabin. She had never been so happy to see him, not even the night of the Salem Witch Trials. 

“Flynn?”

“Lucy? Oh God, Lucy!” He gently pushed her back down onto the bed. “Don’t try and talk yet. Just rest.” His hands reached out to her face almost compulsively, drawing away in the same movement. 

“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, catching at his hand, needing to reassure herself that he was alive and well, and not trapped somewhere under half a million tonnes of rock. Questions raced through her mind. “Where were you – how did we get back here? What happened to Emma?” 

“I found you half-buried in a snowdrift at least a mile down the lakeshore, Lucy, you were barely breathing. I thought... I thought you were... What happened? Was it Emma? What did she do to you?” 

“No, she... I heard her talking, but she never came inside. And then there was the rock fall, and I had to find you, I thought you might be hurt. But...”, she tailed off, hating to sound like some kind of damsel in distress, “I got stuck in that snowbank, I guess.”

“You left the cabin in the middle of the rock fall to look for me? With Emma out there? Lucy, how could you? You could have been hurt, you could have died!” 

“So could you! I wasn’t just going to leave you out there.” 

“Me?” He looked thunderstruck. “Lucy, it doesn’t matter about me. You must never, never risk your safety for me again. Please.” Very slowly, he brought his other hand back up to her face, and stroked one finger down her cheek. She stared back at him, disbelievingly. What, she was supposed to cower in the cabin while he just died out there?

“Just what kind of person do you think I am, Garcia Flynn?” 

He hesitated a long moment, then leaned down and kissed her temple so softly she could almost have imagined it. “You’re the bravest and the kindest person I know. But I’m asking you this for me, Lucy. Please. I can’t have you die for me.”

“Garcia,” she began, gripping his hand more tightly, “I’ll be... more careful. I promise. But I will never abandon you.”

A shadow passed over his face, but in the next moment he had gathered her into his arms, drawing her into his chest as if he would never let her go. He pressed another kiss into her forehead, harder this time, and his hands tightened around her. Just as she was snuggling deeper into his warmth, and the feel of his strong hands, and the miracle of his beating heart after her hours of struggling through the snow, as she turned her head to kiss his shoulder in sheer gratitude that he was here with her, he exhaled sharply and released her back onto the bed.

“My God, Lucy, do you think I’m made of iron?” he demanded, almost angrily. 

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. 

He looked abashed. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just... you know how I feel about you. But”, he added bitterly, “you deserve so much better than to be pawed over by some terrorist when you just wanted to keep warm and get some rest. I’m sorry.” 

“Pawed over?”, she demanded, suddenly angry. “Is that what you think this is? Is that what you think of me? That this was some kind of creepy bargain where you save my life and in exchange I grudgingly have to endure you touching me for a few minutes? Is that the game you’re playing?”

“No, I...” 

“Shut up and listen for once, can’t you? I don’t know what exactly you feel about me, but I care about you. And I... I like it when you touch me, when you hold me. Or, at least, I did before this whole mess.” Her face flamed, but her anger overcame her embarrassment. 

He looked stricken. 

“Lucy, I’m so, so sorry. Please. You know I... I care about you too. More than you could ever know. I can’t help it. But it doesn’t mean you have to do anything, or feel anything, for me.”

She was just too tired to deal with any of this. “Listen, let’s just get off this damn mountain and back to somewhere with central heating, and then we can talk about this properly.”


	4. Long Have I Waited Lonely

If Lucy hadn’t been so tired, the long hike back down to the Lifeboat would have been among the more awkward hours she had ever spent with Flynn. If she hadn’t genuinely needed him to give her a support in scrambling over the boulders, she didn’t know if she could have borne his grip on her arm and even – when lifting her down some of the steeper drops that her shorter legs couldn’t compass – around her waist. The knowledge that he loved her, that he wanted her: well, in some part of her mind, she had known that for a while. But the idea that he thought he could never have her, that he saw himself as taking advantage of her despite the signals she had been sending him, despite how explicit she had been over the last few days – she didn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken. 

For his part, he seemed somehow to have found contentment on the path down. He didn’t press himself on her, but he was attentive as always to her presence, watching her movements carefully, reaching out for her before she realised she might need a hand, smiling to himself despite the weariness settling on his face. And if he looked weary, she realised, she didn’t even want to think what she looked like.

As they reached the lower slopes, with first the smallest pines and then even the sodden grasses starting to poke up from beneath the thinning layers of snow, the going became much easier, and she no longer needed his support to plod mechanically on down the track. At long last, they made it back to the clearing where they had hidden the Lifeboat, and she was beyond grateful that Rufus was there waiting for them, looking infinitely relieved to see them safe and sound. Flynn lifted her into the machine, and she collapsed thankfully into her seat, allowing him to buckle her in without protest.

“Well, don’t all rush to enlighten me as to the success of the mission,” Rufus said, after a few minutes of silence.

“We saw Rittenhouse, climbed a mountain, the mountain collapsed underneath us, we climbed back down,” Flynn replied. “And if the fates have done their job and Emma is now buried under a million tonnes of rubble, you can convince Agent Christopher to buy us some better beer.”

“Emma died?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t see her anywhere around when the Barrier was coming down.”

“I heard her,” broke in Lucy. “Her and Jessica. They were there. I think they’re here to intercept some gold shipments, or something. Only I would have thought that would happen much further north, as far as I know all the gold from the Yukon was ferried down from the Alaska panhandle, or at least from Prince George. Unless they’re talking about gold from the Okanagan area... but even then, this isn’t the obvious spot.” She tailed off, and shivered, thinking about the moment when the Barrier had given way, and she had believed Flynn was trapped out there.

“Yeah, well, if the bunker has been replaced by a luxury villa when we get back, I’ll congratulate you on managing to literally bury Rittenhouse. If it’s still the same old shithole, it’s just further proof that if ten years alone in nineteenth century Missouri doesn’t kill you, it certainly makes you annoyingly indestructible. All buckled in? We’re ready to launch.” 

***

As expected, the bunker was still the same old bunker. Typical Emma. And when she had had her first sleep, followed by an unsatisfactorily vague debrief, at least from Agent Christopher’s point of view, and an almost equally unsatisfactory meal – they really had to do something about the food situation, having half their meals at odd moments in the past was bad enough – Lucy headed to Flynn’s room, making herself knock firmly before she had a change of heart. She was going to talk to him.   
He opened the door almost immediately, and stood there grinning at her, looking absurdly pleased with himself as he ushered her into the room, hand at her back. It was hard to imagine a bigger contrast with the shamefaced man who had pulled himself away from her in the cabin, and she could hardly understand what could have caused the change.

“You’re looking... happy”, she began uncertainly.

“You’re looking beautiful,” he replied immediately. “And you came to my bedroom of your own accord, so yeah, my day’s looking up.” 

She flushed, but ploughed onwards. Flynn was the master of bottling his feelings behind a snarky façade, after all. “Um, OK, I don’t know what you’ve done with the Garcia Flynn who was apologising all over the place for having the temerity to come near me up at Garibaldi, but do you feel like telling me what the hell is going on?”

His face grew serious again, and he paused for a moment. 

“I... I had a lot of time to think about what you said. What you did. And I realised is that if the smartest person I know tells me something, I should probably listen. And while I know I don’t – won’t ever – deserve you, if there’s any part of you that wants me, then... well, Lucy, I will always be here for you, in whatever way you want.” 

“Garcia, I... I’m glad you listen to me sometimes, at least.” She hesitated, and he caught her hands in his and drew her down to sit on the bed next to him. 

“What do you want, Lucy?”

Honestly, she wasn’t sure. She rested her head on his shoulder, leaning into his solid warmth, and remembering the feel of his feather-light touches down her side, caressing her like she was something precious. Reaching for his hand now resting lightly on her thigh, she intertwined their fingers. 

“I want... I want to explore this. I want you to touch me, properly. I want to touch you. I want you to promise me that you won’t spend half your time doing penance for... anything that happens between us. That you will trust me when I tell you what I want, and when I tell you that you’re allowed to take what you want.”

He was staring at her with such awe, desire, and disbelief in his eyes that it almost hurt. 

“But right now – right now I just want you to hold me.”

“I can work with that,” he whispered, leaning her down onto the bed and pulling her onto his chest. “You can sleep, Lucy. I have you safe.”

“I know,” she said drowsily. She wanted to keep stroking at the hair on the back of his neck, running her hand down the hard muscles of his arm, but the tiredness was washing over her again, and she settled herself more comfortably in the crook of his body and let her fingers drift more and more slowly until they were barely moving at all. She was vaguely aware of him cradling her more closely, tucking the blanket around her, and pressing the occasional kiss into her hair. His breathing in turn grew more regular, but she was asleep before she could really register anything more.


	5. World is Singing to World

As the light gradually filtered through into Flynn’s room, Lucy became aware that she really should disentangle herself from his body and re-join the rest of the team if she didn’t want everyone to know exactly what was going on between them. And she wasn’t sure that she did, not yet. But as she made to slip out from under his arm, his grip tightened on her. 

“No,” he said, firmly. 

“What do you mean, no?” she asked in surprise. 

“Trust me, you’re not going anywhere this morning.” He kissed the top of her head again, and ran his hand down her side.

She laughed, and pushed vainly again at his arm holding her tight to his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But oh, she could get used to this, to snuggling into him as though there was nothing and no one else in the world. “What about breakfast?” 

“I’ll bring you breakfast. Don’t move, just stay here for me. Please.”

“Don’t tell me you want crumbs in your bed – or coffee stains if it comes to that?”

“Lucy, believe me, I would sleep knee-deep in crumbs every night of my life if it meant knowing that you’d be in my bed in the morning.” 

She laughed again, stretched out her still stiff muscles, and decided that after all she was still feeling the after-effects of the climb. Breakfast in bed wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world just this once. “OK, you’ve convinced me. But the coffee had better be good.”

***

After she had eaten – and while she hadn’t actually spilled her coffee there were a few crumbs littering his sheets – she curled back into his arms again, and his hands began to roam more purposefully over her, shaping the curve of her neck, her waist, her hips, and, hesitantly at first, her breasts, as though he were trying to memorise her body. She felt herself pressing into his touch, wanting more, growing warmer with desire. But the clock was ticking, she reminded herself, and after what had happened with Wyatt she was determined not to rush things. So she reached for his hands, kissing the backs of fingers in turn to show him she wasn’t upset, and wriggled away enough to look up into his face. 

“It’s getting late. We should probably, um, pause this for a while, and check in with the rest of the team. We didn’t thrash everything out with Wyatt yesterday, and Connor must have had a chance to check the Wikipedia by now. We should be able to figure out more about what changed during the mission. Make a plan for the next steps.”

“I don’t want him to even look at you”, burst out of him. It was clear he wasn’t referring to Connor. There was a part of her that welcomed the way Flynn seemed to have decided he had a right to have feelings for her, but she was certainly not going to put up with this kind of thing. Before she could remonstrate, he continued. 

“Sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean that. Well – in a way I did mean it. But I know that he’s your friend. As well as our, uh, colleague. And you can see whoever you want, anyway, always. Ignore my idiocy.”

She squeezed his arm lightly. “Thanks for saying it before I had to.”

He pulled her more closely into him, and kissed her again. “But seriously, just this one morning, if the alarm doesn’t go off – please stay. You don’t know what it does to me, seeing you here.”

“You know I can’t just stay in your bed forever, right?”

Flynn looked as though he were seriously tempted to argue with that statement, but restrained himself. “Let a man dream for a little longer?”

She laughed again. It was so surreal, after everything, lying here cocooned in his arms as though there were nowhere else to be, nothing to do but be kissed and kiss back lazily, nothing but Garcia Flynn’s dark eyes gazing at her like he had never seen anything more beautiful. She traced her fingers along the hard muscles of his arm and tangled them into the hairs on his scarred chest, along the outside of his ear, and down the thighs that were still entwined with hers. He almost purred with contentment at her touch, and kissed her gently, and then with more assurance.

***

Garcia loved to touch her for its own sake, she knew that, but she was also well aware that although he was reasonably restrained around the other members of the team, he was not at all averse to letting his hands drift more intimately over her when there was a sporting chance it would enrage Wyatt. At one point in her life she might have enjoyed the spectacle of two men quarrelling over her: at this stage and in these close quarters it was merely tiresome. 

“Seriously, you have got to stop doing that,” she told him as Wyatt stalked scowling away from what had started out as an intensive study session on the couch. “What is this, high school?”

He grinned, unrepentant, and pulled her back into his lap, stroking the strip of bare skin where her sweater had ridden up. “I thought you enjoyed this?” 

“I do” – she gasped slightly as he bent to nibble at her neck – “but not for the purpose of tormenting Wyatt. Not to mention when I’m trying to catch up on recent changes in American history when someone hasn’t been careful enough on missions.” 

“You told me I was allowed to take what I wanted”, he reminded her, teasing.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

“Hey, you’re the one that said you couldn’t stay in my bed forever. You can’t blame me for developing... alternative options.”

Lucy swatted at him gently. “I really want to read this. I’ll come find you later,” she promised. 

He smiled back at her, mischief replaced with tenderness now. “I’ll leave you in peace, then, professor.” 

Attention back on her book, she wasn’t quite sure at what point he wandered away, but it was a few hours later, and armed with a new stack of notes, that she found herself in his room once more, shedding the now unnecessary sweater, and stretching herself out luxuriously beside him. No need now to huddle close to him for warmth, but she reached for him nonetheless with a deep certainty of finding contentment. 

“Lucy...” he whispered, rolling sideways and propping himself up over her, his expression of delighted anticipation mirroring, she was sure, her own. “My beautiful Lucy...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this, thanks for reading and to whoever came up with the prompt :)


End file.
